The Violence in the Pouring Rain
by JustGail
Summary: And this is how it started. - Rated M for mature content. Pynch. One-shot. Title based on Halsey's Hurricane. I don't own these characters.


And this is how it started:

Gansey had fallen asleep too early, and nobody wanted to wake him.

* * *

And this is how it started:

Ronan got a beer, and Adam didn't go.

* * *

And this is how it started:

Once upon a time, Ronan Lynch was happy. And later, when he was never happy, sometimes he would dream.

* * *

And this is how it started:

It was around midnight when Blue went home. Gansey had fallen asleep around eleven-thirty, and so he could not offer to drive her home. (Nobody wanted to wake Gansey up; they all knew how little sleep he got.) Ronan was Ronan, and so he didn't offer either. And Adam had not driven to Monmouth Manufacturing, and therefore couldn't drive her at all. Noah offered to walk her home, and she accepted. Ronan got up to get a beer, and was surprised to see Adam was still there when he came back.

"I thought you'd have left by now," Ronan said, not too loudly. Because even he cared.

"Take me for a drive," said Adam.

Ronan took Adam for a drive.

They drove and drove, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. The wind blew through the open windows, shrieking and whispering and haunting. They didn't speak.

Ronan wouldn't have known what to say.

* * *

And this is how it started:

It was late enough that even the owls were sleeping. Too close to the break of dawn.

They were in a forest. Not Cabeswater. Ronan parked his BMW on the edge of the road. He had brought a six-pack with him, and he offered a beer to Adam. Oddly enough, he accepted.

They sat in silence, because even Ronan's terrible music would have made no difference.

Ronan looked at Adam. Adam drank his beer. Ronan looked away.

Adam spoke, and Ronan was sure he heard something else, because how could have Adam possibly said what he had just said?

"What," said Ronan, and it felt limp in his mouth, nothing like a question.

"I know," repeated Adam, and just to clarify, he added, "how you feel about me."

Ronan knew when he was dreaming.

"And?"

It was a careful question, vulnerable, even if he knew the answer. Even if he'd always known the answer. _Adam is not yours to have_.

"I'm sorry," Adam said.

But the two of them still sat there and drank their beers, because that's what they were doing, and because it was so late even the owls were sleeping.

And when Adam held Ronan's hand, Ronan understood what it meant. It wasn't pity, like Adam would assume if the roles were reversed. It was comfort.

And when Adam let Ronan lean onto him, Ronan understood what it meant. It was a peace offering: _You can lean on me. You can sleep, and I will guard you_.

Sometimes, Ronan found it impossible to forget that Adam was a magician.

He didn't sleep. They got back into the BMW, and Ronan drove Adam home, and Ronan parked by the side of the road and didn't cry. Adam held his hand for so long, Ronan could still feel the ghost of it, his fingers closing in.

And when he saw the light of day, he drove back to the warehouse and didn't sleep some more.

* * *

And this is how it started:

Adam came crashing onto him. He was a force of nature, this magician, so much like Ronan, nothing like him.

But first, Blue broke Adam's heart.

It had been long ago, forever for the young, but Ronan watched Adam and he knew that every day, Blue broke Adam's heart. Even if he didn't seem to know it himself.

And then Persephone broke all of their hearts, and it was the grief that started it all.

Gansey was with Malory, one last time, and Adam burst into Monmouth Manufacturing and pinned Ronan with a gaze. He was like a hurricane, destroying everything in his path. His eyes were like a storm. And perhaps Adam saw all too well how much Ronan wanted to kiss him, because the hurricane that was a boy – the boy who was a hurricane – came crashing straight onto Ronan, pulling his shirt towards him.

"Parrish – " Ronan said, gasped, breathed. He was so _close_ , Ronan couldn't breathe anything but Adam's scent. He smelled like Cabeswater and car oil. He smelled like the world.

"Shut up," said Adam, and the two were kissing, kissing, kissing. Ronan savored every moment, not knowing what this was, what it meant, if it was going to last. He wouldn't know until he saw Adam's eyes, and Ronan couldn't bear to open his eyes right now.

Adam tasted sweeter than Ronan could have ever imagined. They kissed and kissed and kissed until neither of them had any breath left in them, and then they were in Ronan's room and they kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed. Adam tasted like heaven, like the skies, like a dream – but Ronan knew when he was dreaming.

But Ronan had seen Adam's eyes, and they were not full of longing, but of an angry storm. He knew better than to hope for anything more. And when Adam had his full, after so much time had passed, after not enough time had passed, the two weren't touching anymore. Ronan found that he was lying on his back, and that Adam was straightening his color. He didn't say a word as he left, and Ronan knew better than to call after him.

* * *

This would not be the last time this happened, but Ronan knew better than to believe that this changed anything. _I'm sorry_ , he'd said, and they had just stared at the trees and drank their beers and Ronan's heart was weeping but he would not cry.

The next time Adam kissed him, they were in his apartment above St. Agnes. It was Sunday, and Ronan wasn't even sure what he was doing there, except that he wanted to be there. That it hurt him so much to be around Adam, but even worse to be far away. That he wanted one last shot at that heaven which had been Adam kissing him kissing him kissing him, that he knew that it would not happen again. But it had happened. This time, Ronan lost his shirt, and he shivered as Adam ran his hands up and down his spine, his _tattoo_.

 _Manibus_ , he thought. _For your hands_.

Today, Adam tasted like honey and milk, like things promised and forgotten. He tasted like clouds and sugar, like everything sweet, like everything nice, like a dream, like a dream. But Ronan knew when he was dreaming.

* * *

They never spoke about it, about their encounters. Every time, they would kiss and kiss and kiss and every time Ronan lost more clothes, until Adam started losing clothes as well. But nothing more came of it, and they never spoke of it.

Ronan was surprised to find out that he didn't even dream of it. Adam, though still a permanent fixture in his dreams, was always fully clothed, always too far to kiss.

Ronan was even more surprised to find out that he didn't feel used. Quite the opposite. He felt like he was using Adam. Using him to be near him. Using him to give everything he had away. Everything he _could_ give. Anything Adam would let him give.

Whenever they were alone, they would kiss, and whenever they weren't alone, Ronan would watch Adam until his eyes felt like sand.

* * *

This was how it started:

Ronan was a raven, a snake, a Greywaren. Adam was a hurricane, a storm, a magician. When Adam left, Ronan stayed behind. And Adam left every time, or forced Ronan to leave, which was still ahead of Ronan.

There was a sort of routine to it. Ronan would go to Adam's most of the time. And when Adam was done with him, Ronan would leave.

One time, Adam fell asleep instead, and Ronan felt his heartbeat quicken at the thought of lying next to him all night. He didn't want to go back to the warehouse. So he stayed. When he fell asleep, he felt the warmth of the body sleeping next to him, and his dreams, for once, were good dreams.

* * *

The next morning, Ronan woke up with Adam pressed to his back, with his hands ( _manibus_ ) holding Ronan in place. Ronan loved and loathed every moment. He tried to remind himself that this was not a dream.

When he realized almost immediately after what was going on in his nether regions, he knew that this was definitely not a dream. He tried to escape Adam's arms without waking him, and had thought he had succeeded when he heard Adam's gruff, sleepy voice. "Where are you going?" And then, after seeing the tent in Ronan's already tight pants, he said in a much more awake voice, "Don't go."

Ronan didn't go.

"Let me," he added.

Ronan let him.

It was only Adam's hand, but it was over quickly. This was all so new to Ronan. He didn't know what to feel. He felt like he was going to explode. He _did_ explode.

At the end Adam kissed him, and his eyes didn't betray a single thing.

 _How odd_ , thought Ronan, _how fitting, that I fall in love with the only thing wilder than me_.

* * *

Once again, they settled into a routine. A new routine. Ronan came over to Adam's whenever he wasn't working on waking up dreams, whenever Adam wasn't working. They would make out until they both fell asleep. And if _something_ needed to be taken care of in the morning – and it often _did_ – Adam took care of it.

Then they would live their lives like nothing happened.

* * *

This was how it started:

Two boys were terrified of the things in their heads, and they couldn't help but love the things in the other's head.

* * *

One time, Ronan woke up covered in blood, and he'd brought something with him from his nightmare. Without hesitating, Adam had pulled a knife from under the bed and killed it, as swift as a kiss.

"You were prepared for this," said Ronan as they buried the thing far away.

"I was prepared for you," answered Adam.

* * *

Later that night, when Ronan looked in Adam's eyes, there was something new in them.

"Take me for a drive," said Ronan.

Adam took him for a drive, and they ended up in the same place as before. They sat in silence. Even the wind did not dare to speak tonight. The trees did not whisper. The owls were asleep.

"I don't mind if you're simply using me," said Ronan, feeling slightly ashamed. "I know that it's odd, but I don't."

"I'm not simply using you," said Adam quietly.

"I know," said Ronan. His hand reached for Adam's, and then they were holding hands again.

"I love you," said Ronan.

"I know," said Adam.

For once, Adam wasn't a hurricane. He was pouring rain.


End file.
